


Knowing the Odds

by DevinTowerwood



Series: Lessons in being a Queer Girl [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Before The Storm, F/F, Fluff, POV Multiple, Pining, lesbian lead character, near-suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-01-20 14:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12435162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevinTowerwood/pseuds/DevinTowerwood
Summary: Steph probably had her only shot in Rachel Amber, and it doesn't look like she's going to get it. At least there's someone else who knows how she feels, kinda.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [priestessamy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/priestessamy/gifts).



"Oh, hey. I wanted to ask you something."

Steph wanted to keep her cool, but now that the moment of truth was here, she could just feel her mouth go dry. She didn't want to have this conversation - but she needed to.

Chloe slowed, then dropped back onto the bench next to her. With the tiniest shrug, she replied, "Shoot."

Steph had been practicing the script since yesterday, and she already knew it by heart. It came out even though she couldn't focus on the words themselves at this point; "I've been planning to make a move on Rachel, but not if you two were together."

Chloe didn't reply immediately, as typical. She just sort of sat there, her eyes shifting around as she thought without quite making eye contact. It was always like she had some internal monologue going on, and although they hadn't talked much, Steph had already learned to just wait. Not everyone practiced these conversations - it was almost nice that Chloe took the time to take people seriously.

Finally, Chloe re-established eye contact and asked, "Make a move?" It was so flat that it didn't feel like a question.  
She wanted an explanation? Fine.

Steph allowed herself a glance up at the sky, a space to make the words appear in her head, then asked, "So, are you?"

"Uh."

_That's not a no._

"I mean, that's Rachel's business - or maybe yours and Rachel's business - but if you feel comfortable telling me..."

Steph wasn't sure what answer she could get at this point that would make her happy. Chloe had said yesterday that the two of them weren't even friends, and yet . . . Steph couldn't get that feeling out from under her skin that something was different. It started before the photo - the one from the concert, the first time she had ever actually seen Rachel and Chloe together - but it stayed with her like an itch.

_"What? No - we've just hung out the once. I think you're good."_

_Steph would act all coy, try and hide her smile for a moment, but then Chloe would even encourage her - "Be brave, make a move. I hope it works out for you."_

Of course, that's not how it went at all.

Chloe took a breath, and then, "I'm . . . I don't know." She wouldn't look at Steph again. "It's . . . it's confusing."

Steph wanted that to be a good sign, but even the tiniest thing was glaringly obvious - whatever images Chloe was replaying in her mind, whatever 'it' seemed to refer to that Chloe couldn't seem to keep back a smile from. That was enough. It was as much as she needed to hear.

Steph let out a sigh, mixed relief and agitation. "Yeah . . . I can imagine."  
_Being around Rachel is confusing, but it's never bad._

Steph knew the odds. She knew that about six in one hundred women in their generation identified as bi or lesbian, and in a class of 90 students (slight majority girls), that meant 3 were likely to be gay. She'd done the math long ago, and that's why she had noticed when Rachel had started to watch Chloe from afar, when she had started to ask questions about the weird, gangly loner who had never bothered to say a full sentence to her until she'd wanted a DVD. If Rachel and Chloe ever got together, she'd be the odd man out, and that? that was just the math.  
That sucked, but queer girls can't afford to burn bridges about this stuff.

Steph leaned forward and said, "You ever want to talk to me, Chloe, you know you can, right?"

Chloe smiled more as she stood up, but it looked like that was the point she was done. "I'll see you later, Steph."

"Have fun storming the castle," Steph replied, resigned. Defeated. Exhausted.

Chloe gave a little wave as she swaggered off, and Steph deflated down into her knees. It was over. It was done. She had lost, and that was just the roll of the dice. She'd put herself out there, she'd done everything right, and Rachel had made her choice, and a part of her was glad for her.

But most of her really wasn't.

 

Steph stayed still until the fight behind her died down and Chloe got her way inside - despite being expelled - at which point she tried to just let the stress drop out of her like a cable given slack. It didn't work very well, but it was her best effort. Then she started picking up her art stuff, as it was starting to feel like time to go hole up in her room and listen to podcasts or something else that kept her from thinking very much.

"Hey Steph. Working on your portfolio?"

Steph started, her hand shoved in her bag as she looked up. Samantha Myers was standing nearby, raising a hand in 'hello.' The girl was so quiet, it was easy not to notice when she approached.

Normally she'd be all for a gentle conversation with the mild-mannered freshbaby, but Steph wasn't sure she could manage the gentleness every conversation with Sam took.

"Ah, uh, yeah. Just finished for the night, I think."

"Oh," Samantha replied, tucking her hair behind her ear, then folding her hands together.

She paused, and then asked, "Are you . . . all right?"

"What?" Steph said, looking Samantha straight in the eye. She was always a good dead-faced liar, but she felt like her face was twisting into a pained shape without her permission and looking at Samantha only made her feel like it was carving itself into a mask. "I'm . . . yeah."

As Steph turned away, Samantha reached out a hand. They both hesitated like that; Steph was too afraid to blow off someone so frail(; Samantha didn't want to let go of someone who might be in trouble. Not again).

Samantha asked, "Is there anything I can do for you?" She sounded a little scared.

Steph shook her head. "Nah it's . . . it's not that sort of thing, Sam. It's just . . ."

She hesitated. She had no way of knowing if Samantha was a safe person. Every girl at this school was just one of those liberals who wanted to show they were cool with the gays but fundamentally couldn't understand the situation of being gay in rural Oregon.

"If you . . . want to talk to me, Steph, you know you can, right?"

Steph chuckled, but that was enough to settle it for her. She gestured to the bench again and sat down, Samantha soon to follow. She pulled her beanie down over her eyes and held her head in her hands, blotting out all of the light. She didn't want to watch Samantha's face. She didn't need to see a face journey every time she complained about being single.

"Quick version? I like Rachel; she's out of my league; Chloe is apparently in her league; it's confusing, but it's definitely . . . happening. And that just blows, dude. Like, a lot."

"Oh." A short pause, and then, "Like, what's happening, though?"

" _They_ are. Ugh, they're dating, I think, or they're going to. Point is I'm screwed."

A longer pause this time. Samantha probably had no idea what to say. After a few seconds, she stuttered, "That - that sucks. I'm sorry."

_Beat._

"I didn't know."

Steph pulled up her beanie just enough to give Samantha a side-eye. "Know what?"

Samantha laughed nervously, then swallowed. "That Rachel was . . . into girls."

The way she pronounced every syllable of in-to girls so clearly made Steph laugh, but she got the sentiment. "Ha. Yeah. I guess you could say she's not quite as 'out' about it."

Entirely missing the (minimal) effort Steph put into that double entendre, Samantha said, "Well, I guess she just doesn't wear a," she pointed at her own head, "a beanie I guess."

Steph smirked, pulling the beanie off and holding it in her hands, just to have something to play with. "Yeah, I mean, it's sort of a teenage lesbian thing, I guess. At least outside of Portland. Rachel flies a little under the radar - if you're straight, at least."

"Oh. Okay."

Samantha might be eager to help, but, predictably, she had no idea what she was doing.

She asked, "Is - is Rachel the only girl you like?"

Steph scoffed, still kneading the beanie. "What's the point of liking anyone else? I know the junior girls - we've dated or we hate each other, or both. Senior girls are graduating next month. Freshmen? Seems . . . weird. I don't even know any queer freshmen as it is. Plus, Rachel's . . . Rachel, you know?"

Samantha nodded emphatically. "Yeah. I - I know what you mean, I think."

Steph's face showed her disbelief.

Samantha lifted her hands in a shrug; "I mean I think? At least, liking someone special and knowing the odds are . . . not good. Of you two . . . ever. Y'know."

There was a pause as Steph tried to sort out what that meant, but Samantha followed up with, "I mean, I know it's not the same as being a lesbian, sorry. I just get what you're feeling about Rachel, I think. Maybe . . . sorry."

God, she was doing that thing - precisely the thing Steph hadn't wanted to deal with right now. The apology spiral. But maybe Steph had a way to cut it off before it went too far.

"Who do you like then?" Steph redirected. "I mean, unrequited feelings suck, but I guess there's enough to go around."

"Um." Quiet. Then a shrug. "J-just a guy, I guess. It's not really a big deal."

Minimizing and evading. No, this was all the typical Samantha bullshit. And Steph's annoyance crept into her voice, "Look, just tell me. Or don't, that's your business. But it's not like it's going to weird me out that you like a boy."

"Um." Another pause. "Nathan? Uh, Prescott. I guess."

"Oh."

_Well, fuck me. It is going to weird me out a little._   
_Why would she like someone so . . . weird and scrawny? And mean?_   
_I don't get it._

Samantha scooted forward on the bench by a little, speaking faster, "Like, I know people think he's weird, but he's really smart and talented when you give him a chance. And he's really . . . not the person you've probably seen."

Steph raised her hands up to show her innocence. "Hey, I didn't say anything. You're into what you're into. And is _he_ the only boy you like?"

Samantha grimaced at Steph's response, but didn't push it further. "He's . . . the only boy I've ever liked, I think."

_Holy shit. That sucks._

"Uh . . . wow. Shit."

"Is that weird?" Samantha asked. Her tone definitely made it seem like she thought it was.

"No?" Steph had no clue. "I don't think so, at least. I mean, it's pretty hard for me to picture liking boys most of the time, so I'm not really a great person to ask, but-"

Samantha interjected (for probably the first time in her entire life) - "He's not like other boys, though."

Steph quirked an eyebrow. Played football? _Check._ Was a little bitch about dress rehearsal? _Check._ Spent too much time on 4chan? _Check._ Obvious inferiority complex due to self-doubt in own masculinity? _Check._  
 _Sure seems like any other boy to me._

"He's not, I promise. Nobody gives him a chance because of his dad, but he really can be . . ." Samantha shook her hand, as if trying to sift through all the words to find the right one. "Special. I don't know how to describe it. But I haven't met any boys like him."

"Huh," Steph replied, then chuckled a little. "Well, I guess your odds are worse than mine, huh? At least I've liked other girls - plus nobody wanted to beat them up because of their dad, so that was a plus."

This did not seem to make Samantha feel better. "I hate that," she replied.

Steph just nodded, but looked away. She knew how people treated Nathan. She was pretty sure she rationalized her dislike for him so she wouldn't feel bad knowing how the other boys treated him. But deep down, she knew that she, just like those boys, thought Nathan kind of deserved it. Not because of anything _he_ did, per se, but when you come attached with so much evil, it's hard to see you as anything but that. Maybe it was good that someone at this school, at least, could acknowledge Nathan as a person. It's not like Steph was about to be that person, after all.

Steph cracked a smile, putting her beanie back on as she swung her legs. "Well, hey, this means you can only go up. If you go gay now you're only increasing your options."

They both laughed nervously, and Steph started to stand.

Samantha scratched the back of her head and said, "I thought you said there weren't any gay freshmen?"

That held Steph back for a second. "Not as . . . far as I know?" She wasn't sure she understood the point of the sentence.

Samantha was equally confused, and her next sentence came together slowly. "How . . . would? . . . you know."

_What does that mean?_

Steph shrugged. "I'm not really sure what you mean?"

Samantha tried again, smoother this time; "How would a girl let other girls know she likes girls?"

All of the heterosexuality from their previous conversation was keeping Steph from understanding the question. "Are you . . . asking about gay coding? Like, how do people trigger gaydar or not?"

Samantha nodded vigorously, and that was enough to drop Steph back into her seat.

"Are you . . . just curious or . . . is this a practical question?" she was at a total loss for what was happening right now, and it was making her talk just like Samantha.

Samantha tucked some of her hair behind her ear again. Her eyes were wide, and she looked as taken aback as Steph. "I'm . . . not sure."

Steph blinked. "Do you - do you like girls?"

The surprise seemed to be slowing falling into panic on Samantha's face. "I . . don't . . . know."

Awkward silence prevailed for a few seconds. Then Samantha continued, "But I think I want to."

_What._   
_What the fuck does this even mean._   
_Is this the shit people talk about with girls in college._   
_It isn't even college what the fuck._   
_Did my suggestion just literally make a lesbian out of someone?_   
_If it was this easy things would have been a lot easier._   
_Also what the fuck._

"Um . . . okay." Steph looked down at her bag for a second, adjusted her face to a more pleasant surprise, and said, "Well, fuck it. Yeah, uh, flannel is good. Putting lots of buttons on your backpack is good - getting some blank pride flag colors once among other buttons is really good. Undercuts and sidecuts are good. Dyed hair, leather jackets, um. And, oh, duh."

Steph pulled off her beanie again and offered it across the bench. "Beanies are a good starter. Low commitment, keep your head warm. Plus I've got like, five, so you can have mine."

Samantha just stared at it. "Uh?"

Steph opened her hand so the beanie was just lying in her palm. "Seriously, though. Like, I'm lice-free. If you want to start becoming a blip on every gay girl's radar . . . that might be all it takes."

Samantha's hand slowly extended out, hovering over the beanie as if she could feel the lesbian power emanating from it. Steph could feel the legacy somehow inherent in this one gift, and nervousness trickled into her body after she'd already done everything she needed to do.

And then, Samantha picked it up, looked it over for a second, and then put it on.

She looked . . . like a huge dweeb. But definitely gayer.

"Does it . . . work?" Samantha asked, as if hoping she had suddenly been transformed.

"Good start." Steph offered out an open hand for a swipe-and-bump. "Let me know if you ever need any help looking gayer or like, other gay stuff. I don't know. Good luck."

Samantha reached out and shook Steph's hand as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and Steph just went along with it.

"Thanks, I think."

Steph winked and finally stood up. It wasn't how she had expected this conversation to go - or the last five minutes to go - but it definitely made her feel better than she'd expected. "I'll see you later, Sammy."

"Sammy?"

Steph shouldered her bag and waved goodbye without another word.


	2. A Comedy and a Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samantha and Steph meet unexpectedly at the hospital; Samantha gets wrapped up in trying to help Nathan. Again.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Samantha snapped awake, looking up at whoever spoke but not recognizing them yet.  
She had fallen asleep. She had told herself that she wasn't going to fall asleep until she saw Nathan.

"Yo, Sam, you okay? You here for Mikey?"

"What?"

_Oh, it's Steph._

Steph Gingrich sat in the chair next to where Samantha had fallen asleep, in the tiny lounge outside Urgent Care. She was dressed in different clothes since this evening when they'd met in the courtyard - a blue shirt now, but the same beanie - or a duplicate. She _had_ said she had a bunch of them. Despite the fresh clothes, she looked uncharacteristically haggard. Nathan had said Steph wasn't at the play, but he hadn't said anything about her being at the hospital.

Samantha realized she was slumped over and sat up, reaching to smooth out her hair.

"Oh, hey Steph," she said. Her throat was dry. How long had she been asleep? "What are you doing here?"

"So, not Mikey then." Steph turned and sat back in the chair, casting an eye towards the bright hallway past the attending nurse. "Well, Mikey broke his arm, so me and Drew are keeping him company. It's my shift to be awake in case he is."

"Oh. Oh god!, what happened?"

Steph shrugged, still looking down the hall instead of at Samantha. "Ah, well, it's . . . kind of a complicated situation. But it's over. I think."

Samantha checked her phone, which was quick to remind her that it was low on battery. 6:15am. A two-hour nap. She should text her Mom.

She shrugged, and said, "Well, it's kind of complicated for me, too."

That seemed to catch Steph's interest, and she finally turned back to Samantha, eyebrows raised. "Oh yeah? I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Samantha managed a weak laugh, but that just reminded her that her throat was dry. "Fine, um, yeah. Just a sec, getting a drink of water."

 

When Samantha returned a few minutes later, Steph had her phone keyboard slid open and was typing furiously. Even when Samantha sat down next to her, she didn't look up for a good twenty seconds, once she'd sent her message. She put the phone in her lap instead of back in her pocket.

_Must be a pretty lively conversation._

"God, there are other people up this early?" Samantha asked, not sure of a more polite way to intrude.

Steph smirked. Her mood was somehow better than it had been two minutes ago.

"Hm. Yeah, I guess. Rachel is up  _awful_ early for some reason." Her voice was coy and dramatic, like when she narrates that game for Mikey. Its application here was mystifying.

"Is . . . that . . . weird?"

Steph's phone vibrated again, and she immediately smirked as she grabbed it. "Maybe. I don't really kiss and tell." She flipped her phone open. "Although, maybe Rachel does."

One.

Two.

Three.

Samantha's eyes shot wide as she figured it out. It was a hospital, and silent hospitals help healing, but her whisper was also kind of a yell: "Is Rachel texting you about _sex_?"

Steph's wicked grin stayed. Nope, 'sex' didn't make her flinch. _Holy shit_.

Samantha started gesticulating wildly to make up for the fact that she couldn't be loud. "Did _you_?! - have _sex_ \- with _Rachel_?"

Steph looks a little pinker thanks to the question, but she shakes her head. "Oh, hell no. I'd kiss and tell that, god."

Steph resumed her texting without further explanation, but this mystery was easier to solve than the last one.

"Wait, did Rachel and Chloe . . .?"

Steph gave a side-eyed glance, and then resumed texting. She typed so quickly on such a small keyboard, it kind of freaked Samantha out a little. She couldn't even type that fast using a real keyboard.

Once she finished the text, she dropped her phone back on her lap and held her hands up. "Hey, all I know is that Rachel Amber does _not_ rise with the Dawn, which is actually pretty ironic."

_Beat._

"Well, that, and she ditched the cast party last night to go . . . somewhere with Chloe."

Was Samantha blushing? She couldn't tell. Her face felt kind of hot though. Even if she was, she couldn't tell if it was from the sudden, intrusive influx of mental images of those two going at it or because Steph seemed so delighted by this fact. Speaking of which . . .

"And you're - you're happy about this? I thought you'd be . . ." Samantha held her empty palms up at Steph, as if the conclusion should be obvious, "I dunno . . ."

"Rabidly jealous?" Steph leaned back in her seat. Her smile dropped, maybe?, but only for a second. "I mean, yeah, I am. But I heard about the play last night, and, well, honestly, sometimes you just have to give quality sexual tension its due."

 _God._ Samantha closed her eyes and shook her head while Steph laughed, a little grossed out, a little pitying, and, if she were being honest with herself, a little turned on. But she didn't like thinking of people like that.

"It was a busy night, I guess."

Samantha meant it as a joke, but it reminded her of why she was here, and apprehension crept into her voice. Steph quieted down quickly, leaning forward to set her elbows on her legs. "Yeah . . . right. So what shitty thing brought you here, huh?"

That at least helped the color drain from her face, reminding her of her clammy hands and aching back from sitting in this chair for so long. Still, she probably would have preferred the fantasies of Rachel's bedroom than the fantasy of Nathan's.

Samantha crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her arms in hopes of warmth. "Yeah . . . okay. So. Nathan and I hung out after the play last night."

Steph nodded. "Yeah, I heard. You stayed longer than the crew, right? Waiting . . . for him?"

Samantha didn't like how she said that. She sounded disappointed. Everyone thought she should stay away from him. But look where that had gotten him.

Steph nodded, looking away to hide her short burst of frustration, and then said. "Yeah. I saw his dad leave during the play so I thought I'd just . . . I dunno, make sure he got home okay. And, stuff. I dunno."

Steph's eyes darted towards the hallway again, then back to her. "And did he not . . . make it home okay?"

Finally, she looked concerned, but that still wasn't it. Samantha wasn't sure how to tell her, really. "No - no. I mean, I mean, he did. We walked to 7/11 and had candy and my Mom picked us up. He seemed kind of upset about the play but he was . . . I mean, he was laughing, and we were having fun. I thought . . ."

The look got darker, and Steph's mouth was pressing into a flat line. "What happened to Nathan?" she asked. It was flat, monotone. Controlled. It was purposeful. She'd already figured it out. But Samantha still didn't know how to explain.

"I still don't really know. I just . . . I got this text a little later and . . . god." Samantha reached into her pocket and opened her texts, tapping up to the right messages.

> **Nathan:** hey i just wanted to let you know uve been real cool  
>  **Nathan:** like i appreciate the stuff you did for me  
>  **Nathan:** so like, thank-you

Reading them again filled her with dread, and she passed her phone off to Steph as if the phone were burning her.

"I don't . . ." Steph said a few seconds later, confused, but as she tapped down on the phone, she started to understand. She grew quiet, and her shoulders started to fall slack. It looked like she kept expecting the messages to end, for it to be a short little exchange . . . but it hadn't been. It had been about a solid half-hour of panicked messages and looking up what information to tell 911 to explain an emergency. Samantha was no good at talking without at least some amount of scripting.

A few minutes later, Steph handed the phone back, and Samantha stuffed it in her pocket. Steph leaned back into her chair with a sigh, but Samantha remained rigid, tense.

"Shit," she said.

Samantha could agree to that.

Steph gestured at the hall. "But he's . . . alive then? No-go on the drugs?"

Samantha shook her head. "No, he did, he took them. But it turned out he didn't have to give me his address - when I called 911 they knew where his house was and they pumped his stomach, I guess. I don't know. I got here a few hours ago and they haven't really told me much. We were just waiting on his parents. His sister went home to get some sleep once he was okay and I guess . . . I stayed here to get some sleep."

There was a pause. Then Steph said, "His dad's a real dickhole. I guess you can't be pure evil and still be a good father, huh?"

Anger rose like bile: "His dad's a piece of shit," Samantha spat. Steph recoiled, but looked pleased.

"Damn," Steph replied with a hint of a smile. It was gone a second later. "But hey, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to make up for that. This sucks."

That just made Samantha angrier. Quietly, she said, "Kristine said that, too. But what I should or shouldn't have to do doesn't matter. He needs someone. He's so fucking alone and I -" dammit, now she was crying, and the tears were hot from anger but mostly she was just sad. Even if he was alive, grief hit her body like a wave.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand as Steph just kind of stared. Was it pity? Sadness? What was that look?

"He's alive, okay? That's all that matters."

Steph shook her head a little, eyes closed.

When she opened them, she said, "No, it's not. You still matter. I'm proud of you, fuck, but I'm scared for you. And sorry, too."

Samantha replied, "You don't know what you're talking about."

She was angry, so angry. Why wouldn't people understand?

 

Steph said, "Yeah, I do."

Samantha said, ". . . who?"

Steph said, "An ex. Sophomore year. Some of this year too, actually."

Samantha said, "I'm sorry.

Steph said, "Yeah. Me too."

 

It was several hours and another nap before Samantha finally got to see Nathan. It was weird, seeing him again after last night, and even weirder with the fact that someone else from the hospital staff was there with them.

He looked terrible. She couldn't tell if she was happy to see him or not.

"Hey, Nathan," she said, raising her hand in the tiniest wave.

He didn't reply in kind. He just stared at her with a dumb look on his face, his eyes looking sunken into the back of his head because of the purple beneath his eyes.

When he finally spoke, it was rough, and it was unwelcoming.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Samantha was taken aback, falling into silence. Why was she here? Wasn't it obvious? Why wouldn't she be here? How could she not be here? After everything that happened last night, she wasn't about to just _leave_ him.

"I . . . I wanted to make sure you were okay."

A short pause, and then, "Is it . . . okay that I came? The nurse said-"

"Yeah. Like, it's okay."

The urge to flee was kicking in, but Samantha had never actually been good at following up on it. She tended to freeze. It was so hard to fight the instinct to hold still and hope that the bad things go away.  
She spent a lot of time fighting that urge. She wondered if he could tell.

It was just silent for a minute. Two minutes. Three? Samantha started to lose track quickly - it was much darker in here, and her phone was dead, and she just decided to sit down until he was ready to talk.

"Are you . . . are you the one who called them? The medics, or whatever?" Nathan turned his head to look at her, his expression unreadable.

_God, I miss the silence._

She just replied with a nod. After a second of hesitation, he sunk back against his bed, and the silence was back.

The next thing he said was under his breath, but the silence was a good conduit for sound.

"You fucking bitch," he said.

And there, without command, the anger filled her throat like bile even as she started to feel sick. She felt so many things, but the only one that made sense to her was revulsion.

She barley managed to keep her voice even-tempered, and she didn't do a great job of it, either. "Excuse - me?"

He turned to her again. He wasn't crying, but his eyes were glassy. The staff member watched, but said nothing.

"Fuck you, Samantha."

For the past several hours, Samantha told herself that she had done this all for unselfish reasons. She told herself that she was protecting him, that she was looking out for him when no one else seemed to be, that she was a real friend, that she had empathy and the people around her just weren't paying attention. She had thought about "Landscape with the Fall of Icarus" - how people went about their daily lives without recognizing the tragedies around them, and she had thought to herself, 'They are stupid. They are mean-spirited. I refuse to be like them.' She had thought she had done good. And, her absolute dumbest thought, she had thought he would see that, too, and that he would thank her.

Her blood ran cold, because none of that was true. Seeing his face, right now, she hated him. She hated this gutless, ungrateful rat. Because she had wanted him to love her. She thought she could make him want to live.

How dare he.

_How dare I._

_Fucking idiot._

But she was a coward, and he was a boy who had nearly died, whether his heart would give out or his lungs would stop working or he choked on his own vomit, and she couldn't say any of this. She just froze, and the venom drained away, if not the hurt.

She wrote the script. It didn't come out as cold or as hard as she wanted it, but she got all the words in the right order and they all came out, and that was what mattered.

"I'm happy you're alive Nathan, but fuck you."

And she left. She chose to walk home in the cold rather than spend another minute with Nathan _fucking_ Prescott.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha so this came out as a bit more angst than really intended. I swear, I'm actually trying to write a kind of slow-burn romance piece here, but I really can't steer clear of acknowledging fucked up situations as an integral part of relationships. But still, Steph and Samantha - I think they can do a lot of good for each other.
> 
> This story came after some rumination on what Samantha might be going through as an outsider in Nathan's life who still cares deeply about him. Wanting to think of herself as selfless was a big thing that came to mind. Dealing with your inability to fix other people. Being angry at yourself for thinking you can.
> 
> I know Steph might seem a little shunted in this chapter, goofy even, but I really wanted to acknowledge some of the ups and downs of this complicated weekend for them both. Steph's issues with the week feel straight-forward, but I know it's going to take more time to really work them out. Her living vicariously through Chloe's and Rachel's relationship just seemed . . . like the best she could get out of the situation for now.
> 
> It's another story of one of my favorite themes, 'The kids are not alright', but I hope to make things a little better, and I think Steph and Samantha are both part of that.


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